The Young Engineers in Colorado eBook

“Country surveyors, these gentlemen, I suppose?”
he asked, looking into Tom’s eyes.

“Yes, sir,” nodded Reade, “though
Mr. Price is also the engineer for our home county.
Both Mr. Price and Mr. Conley paid us the compliment
of saying that we were well fitted to work in a railway
engineering camp.”

“Well, we’ll try you out, until you either
make good or convince us that you can’t,”
agreed the chief engineer, without any show of enthusiasm.
“You may show them where they are to live, Mr.
Blaisdell, and where they are to mess. In the
morning you can put these young men at some job or
other.”

The words sounded like a dismissal, but Blaisdell
lingered a moment.

“Mr. Thurston,” he smiled, “our
young men ran, first thing, into Bad Pete.”

“Yes?” inquired the chief. “Did
Pete show these young men his fighting front?”

Blaisdell repeated the dialogue that had taken place
between Tom and Bad Pete.

The chief listened to his assistant in silence.
Tom flushed slightly under the penetrating glance
Mr. Thurston cast upon him during the recital.

When the assistant had finished, the chief merely
remarked: “Blaisdell, I wish you could
get rid of that fellow, Bad Pete. I don’t
like to have him hanging about the camp. He’s
an undesirable character, and I’m afraid that
some of our men will have trouble with him. Can’t
you get rid of him?”

“I’ll do it if you say so, Mr. Thurston,”
Blaisdell answered quietly.

“How?” inquired his chief.

“I’ll serve out firearms to five or six
of the men, and the next time Pete shows his face
we’ll cover him and march him miles away from
camp.”

“That wouldn’t do any good,” replied
Mr. Thurston, with a shake of his head. “Pete
would only come back, uglier than before, and he’d
certainly shoot up some of our men.”

“You asked me, a moment ago, Mr. Thurston, what
I could do,” Tom broke in. “Give
me a little time, and I’ll agree to rid the camp
of Peter.”

“How?” asked the chief abruptly.
“Not with any gun-play! Pete would be
too quick for you at anything of that sort.”

“I don’t carry a pistol, and don’t
wish to do so,” Tom retorted. “In
my opinion only a coward carries a pistol.”

“Then you think Bad Pete is a coward, young
man?” returned the chief.

“If driven into a corner I’m pretty sure
he’d turn out to be one, sir,” Tom went
on earnestly. “A coward is a man who’s
afraid. If a fellow isn’t afraid of anything,
then why does he have to carry firearms to protect
himself?”

“I don’t believe that would quite apply
to Pete,” Mr. Thurston went on. “Pete
doesn’t carry a revolver because he’s afraid
of anything. He knows that many other men are
afraid of pistols, and so he carries his firearms
about in order that he may enjoy himself in playing
bully.”

“I can drive him out of camp,” Tom insisted.
“All I’ll wait for will be your permission
to go ahead.”